


Beyond Aching

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Medium Length
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-29
Updated: 2003-09-29
Packaged: 2019-04-27 06:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14419950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: Mulder braves what he believes is his last chance.





	Beyond Aching

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

 

Beyond Aching

## Beyond Aching

### by ScamBeliever

TITLE: Beyond Aching   
AUTHOR: ScamBeliever  
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Ask and it's yours. :) **RATING: PG**  
**CLASSIFICATION: S, A**  
KEYWORDS: MSR, post-colonization  
SPOILER WARNING: 5th season mytharc; FTF SUMMARY: Mulder braves what he believes is his last chance. DISCLAIMER: I wish. 

Beyond Aching  
by ScamBeliever 

They call me their hero. A feared hero. A resented hero. An obsessed, murdering, psychotic mock-hero. 

That is what I've become. How high I've been regarded as their leader after the skies fell, is how low most people have also judged me as a man. I owe this drastic change to the person who is not more than 20 feet from me, frowning at an x-ray, as a fellow scientist frantically explains a possible positive development in the creation of a vaccine. 

I'm not blaming her for my moral demise. Not at all. I've chosen to be what I've become and she might not even know she has caused it. 

I keep watch, my view constantly blocked by scampering people, content on the sliced movements like watching a film being edited, as the star of my film has just uncovered the most shocking revelation. 

Not bad. 

These few minutes to spare, I can easily lull myself to forget the world that has all but ended. The world has shrunk to fit only two. 

But then a loud "Sir!" practically destroys my eardrums and stretches my world wide again. People, aliens and bees come stampeding back to reality, filling the widening gap between us. 

Most of the passers-by, including the star of my film, hears the robust greeting and I try not to growl at the person who announced my presence. 

Sources have spotted some movement of undetermined nature nearing the west side of the camp. I am needed. That is the general point of his news but the man delivers it like a speech. I forgive him though, because it gives me a few more minutes to watch her, watch me. 

I'm aware that most of the people have cleared the way, immediately wary of my presence. Hero, savior, leader - I'm still a dangerous man to them, and I truly am. But she never looks at me that way other than the person she's always known. I nod slightly and I'm rewarded with a small smile. I try not to think that it doesn't seem to reach her eyes and I think more that she at least still had it in her to try. And then she looks away. 

The announcer at my side fidgets impatiently and asks for my attention but I don't respond. I wait for her to look at me again. She doesn't. As always. 

And then I go. 

* * *

I barely remember the time when I did not ache. Those were the dark ages of my life. When I was running amok blindfolded. Naive and green, I was without a compass. Now, I'm steady as any intensely driven man can be. Oh, I would occasionally run away, scour the fields where the unknown begs to be discovered. Not on impulse, but more of paying homage to the man that I was. 

If I wander too far, at least now I have an anchor. A lifesaver. A leash that I deliberately handed to a reluctant master. Most of the time, it's harder for me to go and do not need even the slightest tug to keep me from straying. Sometimes, simply thinking about the distance between us is enough to reject the idea to loose myself from our camp. There's already enough distance even when we're inches apart. 

This ache has all but consumed me. 

Most would believe that sharing experiences can bring people together. It's all true, to an extent. It probably depends on the people involved. 

There is no doubt that we're closer than ever since the bees had begun to darken the skies. But instead of letting things take their natural course, as we approach the inevitable change, she holds back and simply stop. This is not all that surprising, coming from my skeptical partner. Anyway, I'm willing to take the extra steps to meet her. In long, fast strides. But the moment I take the last step, she moves back or sideways or diagonally but never forward. She rebuffs, deflect, avoid, push away. 

We've perfected this dance of advance and retreat and we're both too stubborn to quit. 

Most of the time I can take it and try to deal with it in some way. Sometimes I just watch her sleep and I'm fine. But there have been far too many times when I see too much of her and have to scramble to my feet and avoid her at night. Those times, I hide myself from prying eyes, lie on my back on the rough ground, and stare at the next most beautiful thing. 

Sometimes the stars cannot even compare and I curse myself for crying. 

Some dangerous man. If only the people from the camp knew that their brave leader cries weakly because of one tiny woman. Oh, they know that I will hunt, hurt and kill anyone who would so much as give her a papercut. They see my anger and madness but would never dare associate it as my weakness. Best to steer clear from the surest way to bring on my wrath. 

There are times that the urge grips tightly, squeezing the control out of my chest and I can only hope that I don't regret anything I risk doing. 

And now look where it has gotten me. Hidden in the dark, under the less than spectacular view when compared to two frightened blue eyes, screaming distance it hurt to look. And there lies the nth problem in these horrific days. 

Being desperate and an utter fool, I don't merely look. I stare, gaze, observe and ogle. 

I've long past given up on discretion. There are no restrictions to be overly conscious of, no rules to abide, no government to make them. 

Except for the cruel ones she has made for herself. For ourselves. 

Yes, it's cruel because it's unnecessary. Because since the beginning of our struggle for survival, the only thing that made me breathe through the smog was her. Being with her. Completely with her. Finally. 

The only barrier is herself. 

Frustration during these times can only lead you to stupidity and I'm currently living the consequences of a collosal one. I've never been a patient man and I doubt I'll learn to be. 

Yesterday's personal tragedy makes me retch at that one moment. 

I had wounded myself not because of any crucial fight against vicious bounty hunters, but embarrassingly because my mind was somewhere else and could barely see past my nose. I tripped, tried to catch my fall but the small rock was determined to reach my head and was successful in leaving an impressionable gash just above my eyebrow. 

Thankfully, as soon as I appeared at the infirmary tent's flapping doorway, Scully saw me immediately and fear moved her to pull me in and fuzzed over my wound. If someone else tended for me, I would have argued. Fortunately, the tent was empty except for her and was left under the care of soft hands that always smelled like fresh morning shower. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. 

This attitude that Scully deemed pompous to the extreme had led to an exchange of pleasant words in the likes of "a--hole" and "b*tch", followed by a rushed "sorry" which had only been answered with silence. She still didn't approve but everyone else complied. There are merits to being feared. 

She was swift and efficient, treating me like any other patient. I flinched a few times and I now wonder if it's because of the pain or because she had yet to ask what had happened. Not that I was eager to tell the heroic tale. 

Is it bad if I enjoy seeing her worry about and tending to my injuries? That I crave to see her concern, fear and determination to heal me. I know that seeing my every wound and scar causes her as much pain. To know that she hurts when I do...THIS is why I couldn't understand. Why she wouldn't allow herself to be honest. 

I barely felt the sting of the alcohol as she washed the wound. A lock of red fell in the direct path of her vision and her lower lip jutted out automatically for her to blow it away. But her eyes never lost their focus and were trained intently on my wound. When I remembered to exhale, my sigh had already escaped before I was able to cover it. 

God, it was so easy to just lean a little. Just a few sweet inches closer. Her lips swollen for being worried by her teeth (a habit that usually causes me to swallow hard and look away) were right there. They were making me woozy. 

The contact was as jolting for me that I had actually done it, as it was shocking for her. As soon as she stiffened, both of us tried to do the exact opposite. I tried to pull her closer still while she tried to push ineffectively away. 

I had the unfair advantage of shock, her hands full with a swab of cotton in one hand and the alcohol in the other, and a protesting but blessedly open mouth. 

It lasted for 7 seconds, 3 months and half a century. Pick which felt for whom. It's all relative. 

The absence of contact was no less earth shattering. The loss of sweetness cut through the haze of euphoria and reality slammed it's fist hard causing my arms to weaken and for her to push away. 

I didn't open my eyes. But of course eventually, I had to. 

She was perfectly still, her face revealing nothing. I waited, tried to find answers in her twin blues and it hurt to see that the previous groundbreaking phenomenon didn't seem to register. 

Then slowly, she moved. Towards me. 

Every pulse pounded fast and I thought I'd burst in anticipation. The temptation to lean forward when her face was close enough wasn't much of a battle. My eyes drifted close, waiting for the phenomenon to happen again...only to be met by a firm hand on my jaw to keep my face steady. 

I flinched as she swiped alcohol again on my wound. She ignored my eyes and a million questions behind them. The world was slowly falling apart. 

"Come back when it needs changing. God knows you can hardly dress your own wounds." she said as she gave a final pat on my brow. 

I would've argued that I was not that big an oaf and was capable of doing that myself, but then she probably already knew that I'd rather let her do it for me. Even when whining, irritable, stubborn and felt as if she just reached into my chest and crushed my heart in one squeeze. 

She moved away as she gathered the supplies to store them. I kept watch as she moved from one corner to another 'till she went to the half-empty bucket of water to wash her hands. 

No Scully, my blood doesn't wash off that easily. 

"Scully..." 

She paused as my whisper repeated the questions I wasn't able to ask, yet she still heard but had only chosen to ignore. 

"I know." 

My mind floundered as to which silent question she was answering to. 

"We have to talk about this." That was my guess and felt that was also a fairly good start. 

She wiped her hands and turned around, head bent while her hands clutched her arms. I didn't realize what I was doing until I was right in front of her and my arm extending. Touch any part of her, it didn't matter. 

Her hair swished back and forth as her head shook telling me to stop. 

"Not now?" I asked after five heartbeats and the lump in my throat disappeared. Another shake. 

"When?" I managed to say before another lump threatened to rob my breath. 

"Maybe tomorrow. I don't know. But we will talk, Mulder. Just not now." 

It took five minutes after she left before I was able to amble out of the tent. 

And today is the promised tomorrow that she obviously didn't keep. She didn't sleep in our tent last night, and the worn shelter still sits empty tonight. I'd rather sleep with a cold Scully than brood alone. 

'Our' tent. Can it get more unbelievably frustrating? 

Maybe tomorrow. I've waited for years, what's a day or two? 

* * *

It's been 3 days, 4 hours, 27 minutes and counting. She still hasn't found the time for us to talk. 

It's sweltering hot and the humidity leaves me raw and cranky. I've been seething since I opened my eyes and realized I've waited too long. All I can think of as I stand in front of the infirmary is how fast I can rush inside, carry Scully over my shoulder, run to our tent and keep her there 'till we're finished with our "talk." 

An image of myself pissing on all 4 corners of our tent and my fist beating my chest slides through the cracks of my lividness before I'm distracted by the people coming out, all eyeing my frightening mood nervously. 

It's been 7 minutes since a mother and 2 boys herded out, giving me a wide berth. 5 minutes since a middle aged, pudgy man abruptly stopped laughing at something that gave him such misplaced amusement when he bumped into me. The poor man apologized profusely and kept patting my clothes for imaginary dirt. 2 minutes since the infirmary finally fell silent and frighteningly empty. 120 seconds of summoning the nerve I seemed to have lost to go inside. 

I take a breath of sand and humidity before I part the tent's flap. 

She's not alone. 

Disappointment would barely cover a fifth of what I'm feeling. To make things worse, she's with someone who makes my jaw and teeth hurt from gritting. 

It's rare to find people who were not scared s#*tless after everything that has happened. Everyone in the camp were too terrified not to follow us and our cause. Everyone had their specific duties to keep the camp organized, secure and safe from the bees because they were told to do so. They didn't question their roles and appointed tasks. They feared not following my orders. Feared being left vulnerable to the swarm. Eventually, they feared me. 

It had bothered me at first, but I've learned to be firm for us to keep going. Sometimes, even ruthless. I can count in one hand the times when I was particularly harsh, but I had reasoned that those times needed severe control of the camp. I have killed, I don't deny it. I did what I had to do for this small community to survive. But however scant and far apart, danger and severity automatically drills an unwelcome home in people's memories. Scully understood and no one else had dared to question. I've come to accept the flawed role and that I'm feared just because. 

Except for one Dr. Hugh Roberts. 

He had joined us and with his expertise, he immediately offered to help Scully develop the vaccine. Scully welcomed it. We needed all the help we can get. It hadn't mattered that he was surprisingly easy-going and besides Scully, he wasn't scared of me. Not easy to find nowadays. It hadn't bothered me that he found some reason to smile when there was imminent danger of falling into the hands of the colonists. It hadn't mattered that Scully tentatively responded with her own reserved smile. I was grateful that although it wasn't me who made her do so, I'd kiss anyone's feet who can elicit that reaction from her more often. 

I began gritting my teeth when I noticed that most of Dr. Roberts's smile seemed to be solely directed to a fellow doctor who had a face that made you trip over yourself and wound your forehead badly for staring. 

Today, the scene I'm witnessing would add to my wide collection of wall-smacking moments. 

"So what you're hoping for is a decrease in it's acceleration, am I right?" Scully asks as she scans the page of notes by Dr. Roberts. 

Roberts turns, stands behind her and leans his face over her left shoulder. "That's right. Now, this..." 

He blabbers on but I stop listening to his pathetic attempt to impress. Roberts is now practically envoloping Scully as he reaches over and points something on the page. 

She graduated with honors and rewrote Einstein for crying out loud, she can damn well read your notes upside down and in Navajo, _Doctor_. 

When I clear my throat, the gurgle is like a faucet forcing water to flow. Not exactly a good way to call attention but as soon as they hear the strange sound, the notes are immediately forgotten. 

"Yes Mulder? Is there something you need?" 

Wow. You'd think we didn't share 5 years worth of crappy motel accommodations, didn't save each other from countless physical and mental monsters, that I didn't watch her be abducted by madmen from powerful phantom leaders to lowly escaped lunatics, that I didn't drag my ass to Antartica to get her back to me. 

Apparently, I'm just patient number 16 today. 

"Can we talk, Scully?" I answer her but address Roberts. I watch him straighten up but still remain close behind her. The nerve of this guy. 

"Now, Mulder? Can't it wait-" 

"It's been three days." I cut her off. Damnit, it's been 5 years. 

She turns red at my words as her eyes flick nervously to Roberts, instantly painfully aware of his presence. But the dense man doesn't evem look like he's planning to leave us alone. 

"Hugh, can you give us a few minutes?" 

Yes _Hugh_ , this is a private conversation. 

The doctor has the gall to hesitate before he nods to her and leaves the tent without a word. Finally. I hope he runs into a swarm. 

Scully drops the notes on the table to her right and picks up tubes, masks and gloves. Stalling again. But I let her, thinking she needs some space, needs to gather her thoughts. 

My patience runs out when she reaches for a rag, intending to clean the wide makeshift sink. She jumps when I grab her hand, the one tightly holding the worn cloth. 

"That's enough Scully." I turn her to face me and she chooses to stare at the loose thread above my shoulder. I toss the rag away but I leave my hand clasping hers. Possibly a desperate gesture. 

"What are you so afraid of?" Her hands seem to turn cold at my question. 

"I'm not afraid." 

"Then what?" I demand, trying to peer through her now lowered head. 

"Is it so bad that I want this? You?" And I damn myself for adding, "Or is it just me? Because it's me." 

Great Mulder, give her reasons. Enumerate them. 

"Yes." 

What? My hand slips half an inch and my voice can't quite make it over a whisper. 

"That it's me...?" 

She looks up to me then, her eyes are hearbreakingly sad. I'm suddenly terrified of what she's going to answer. 

"Because it's you and maybe because it's me." My hands grow numb, soaking the coldness from her hand which I still wouldn't let go. 

"And you believe - us - would be a mistake." Although deep down I knew she'd somehow see it that way, I just thought that she'd soon realize that we have always been an _us_. 

"I think you're trying to push for something you're still unsure of." 

"How can you say that? This is practically the only damn thing I'm sure of." My hand shakes hers for emphasis, tad short of begging. "This. Us." 

She quietly watches my pleading and through the silence, I realize something I've been trying to keep myself from ever entertaining. 

"Are you saying that this is all just me?" Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it. "That it's either you're unsure of what you want or you don't want it at all?" 

I steady my trembling hand and focus on breathing. I try not to squeeze my eyes shut and wish I hadn't kissed her. 

"My uncertainty is mainly based on yours." 

For a moment, I look at her like she just said she would try pounding salt while discussing the objectives of her last doctor's thesis. 

"Scully," I reach for her face and dare to caress my thumb across her cheek. "If you were only following my lead, then I should've done something ages ago." 

I really don't know how I can still draw heart-stopping boldness when I'm absolutely terrified. How I can dare, guess and assume on what will most likely backfire a hundredfold. Maybe that's the power of desperation, I dare because I have nothing left to lose. 

"But you didn't, Mulder." My thumb stops at mid-stroke. "I don't think you know what you want." 

How many times can the world end while I watch helplessly through thin glass? Every f***ing deity seems to think I haven't had enough. 

There are two things that I know will be the end of me. One, is never be able to find the truth about my sister. That goes without saying. Two, lose Scully's belief in me. 

I'm not going to cry. Not in front of her. 

Dr. Roberts chooses this time to interrupt and tries yet again to steal my partner's undivided attention. Impeccable timing. 

"I'll be right with you, Hugh." I debate whether I'm angry or simply hurt that she opts to end our discussion abruptly. 

Angry. Furious. I don't think I can get anymore hurt than I already am. 

She turns to me and worries her next words. "I have to go." As if I'm incapable of understanding their brief exchange. "We'll talk about this later." Her hand that I don't even remember letting go of, twitches and tucks an imaginary stray lock behind her ear. 

And then she walks out on me again. 

* * *

"You're still here." No. I'm a figment of your imagination. I'm a bounty hunter waiting for you. 

I don't say anything immediately because I'm in no mood to waste my breath stating the obvious. 

"I'm just about to go and be out of your way." I straighten from leaning on the table and start to move to the tent's opening. She's standing right across my path and I make a show of going around the table to avoid her. 

"Mulder..." 

"I'm fine, Scully. We'll talk later. If you're available anytime between tonight and the next decade. But we would have to work around your work with the vaccine and doomsday at hand. I don't know how you can actually fit me in your grand Scully scheme of things." 

Oh yes, I was on a roll. 

"Mulder..." 

"No, it's okay Scully. It will never happen. I get it. It's a mistake. God forbid we at least try to hang on to something that makes sense, that makes me forget that the world is falling apart, that despite what's happening, there's something that meakes me ha-" My voice breaks, stopping my tirade before I humiliate myself further. I pinch the bridge of my nose, focusing on the pressure and breathing. 

In and out. In and out. 

"It's later...and you're not in the way." 

Ok then. I shift my weight from one foot to another and wait. Not knowing what to do with my shaking hands, I place them on my hips and wait some more. I still haven't raised my face after my outburst and when I start wondering if she's changed her mind, I finally do. 

I find her drawing an unknown wet pattern on the table. I have nose pinching, she has finger drawing. 

"Mulder, why now? Why did you finally decide to take the risk?" 

"You make it sound like I'm about to jump off a cliff." Is that how wrong she thinks it is for me to push this? 

"More like off a burning building." Yes, she obviously does. 

"Does it really matter? Isn't it enough that I want you?" She isn't fazed by my bold words and waits patiently, letting me know that no, it's not enough and she wouldn't have asked if it didn't matter. 

I gingerly move closer 'till we're face to face, both of us leaning on parallel tables for support. 

"I don't know. Maybe because I was terrified of gambling on want and risk what we already had. We had powerful enemies, Scully, and they could've used it against us and destroy us with a one snap of their black oil dipped fingers." 

"And you don't think you're taking a risk now?" It takes a moment for me to answer for I had to wait out the pain when she used 'you' not 'we'. 

"I still do, but _we_ both know that the risk is always there." 

None of my words seems to make an effect on her. A ship could've swooped down upon us, taken me right before her eyes and she would've only blinked a few times because the dust whipped against her face. 

"Scully, I'd rather do something that feels right for once. Especially when this might be the only or last chance I've got." 

The first breath you take after unburdening yourself of overdue repressed emotional baggage is the cleanser for any stubborn residue that's left inside. It's supposed to clear the passage for the following relieved breaths. 

Mine is stuck at mid-breath, heaving back the newly unloaded weight and drags it all back in when I see Scully's face telling me that I said exactly the wrong thing to say. 

Pulling my hair out of frustration requires too much unnecessary effort so I settle on asking what's wrong. For a second, I see a glint of wetness but she blinks it back before I'm sure it's anything at all. 

"Don't settle yourself because it's your last desperate chance, Mulder. Don't settle on wanting something when you've believed too long that it's probably the right thing for you to do." she whispers, her voice low and painfully even. 

That's how I know she's upset. Very upset. 

"Who said anything about settling?" I ask, my voice teetering to incredulous. 

Scully suddenly folds into herself. She makes a futile attempt of looking unaffected which makes my chest tighten a little. 

Does she think...? She cannot seriously think...? 

"You think I'm only _settling_ with you?" I ask tentatively, still unsure if that's exactly what she meant. When it comes to Scully's feelings, I can only hope and guess. Keep asking questions and I might get somewhere. 

The tense silence hangs heavily in the humid air. I fold my arms to keep my hands from trembling in sight. 

"I'm just saying...don't want me because I'm here. Because I'm the only one...left." she whispers almost inaudibly, her words heartbreakingly insecure. She can't say nonsense like that and expect me not to touch her. 

I step closer and tip her head to face me. I let her watch me as I tuck a stray lock of auburn behind her ear. "I want you because you're the only one here." I take her hand in mine and clasp it against my chest. I lean and rest my forehead against hers. 

"God Scully, nobody can even come close." That's it. That's all I have. I'm all laid out, cut open with my intestines spilling out for her to pick through. That's everything. 

It's now up to you, Scully. 

The kiss is sweeter and almost dreamlike. My eyes flutter open when I realize she has pulled away, running a thumb across my lower lip. The comforting warmth spreads slowly and I let out a cleansing breath. 

I watch her as she stares at our joined flesh. There are creases on her forehead and I gently rub my fingers on them to smooth away. "What are you thinking?" 

She shakes her head, not ready for all-out confession as I have brutally been. 

That's okay Scully. I place a kiss just below her hairline to make sure that it's crease-free. Just be here with me now. Let me have you. Please. 

"Hey, Dana-" Dr. Roberts interrupts rudely and Scully jumps at the intrusion, pushing away just as suddenly to face him. 

"Sorry, uhm..do you have a minute?" I try not to smile indulgently at him flustering. Before Scully answers, I snake my arm around her waist and rest my chin on top of her head. Scully stiffens at my uncalled for audacity. I manage to pointedly stare at the doctor as I brace for the groin punch to come. 

"Hugh, can we talk tomorrow? I'm ready to call it a day." she says, thankfully playing along. Roberts has trouble meeting our eyes and addresses my arm around Scully's waist that tomorrow will be fine. 

When he leaves, Scully turns to me awkwardly within her human cage. "That was juvenile." 

"I know." I maneuver us 'till I'm semi-sitting on one of the tables so that my face is even with hers. 

Am I still aching? Without a doubt. The extreme longing, of wanting, is merely replaced by the need to keep my thirst filled to the brim. Right now, with my eyes closed and my nose rubbing her jaw, my head and chest is overwhelmingly full. 

"Are you planning to let go anytime soon?" I hear her ask while her finger rubs the skin and hair that meet at the back of my neck. 

"No." And I bite my quivering lip when she asks someone who is calling for her from outside to wait a minute so that I can hold her a little longer. 

A blissful couple of minutes later, I force myself to give us a bit of space. To give her some space. But when I search her face, my mind clear from hazy contentment, I know I'm about to say something I will beat myself to death over. 

"What's...on your mind?" A split-second rewording from 'What's wrong?'. 

"Why do you ask?" 

"Because you still look like you're next in line to jump off a plane with a torn parachute." 

Scully, as my partner, can rival my poker face when the situation calls for it. I'm not sure if it's because I've fully opened myself to her and it's her way of reciprocating or the feelings are too strong to hold back and her face is showing signs of leaking, but I know without a doubt that she's still more than just worried. 

She steps back making my hands slide down to her wrists, still unwilling to separate. She stares at my giant, calloused hands holding hers captive then tilts her head sideways facing the tent's opening. If she is contemplating on walking out on me again, my hands are poised and ready. They're starting to get too warm, too moist before she finally looks up. Her eyes are amazingly luminous and frighteningly broken. 

"I wish I can believe that what you said is right, that they're true. But when I see ourselves exactly where we are, where I imagine we'll be..." she pauses to swallow with effort, before she contiues with difficulty. "It's hard to trust your words when what I see and what I understand make me believe otherwise." 

My heart sputters and creaks slowly, hardly pumping blood. My mind is suddenly empty and my lungs refuse to accept oxygen. I drop her hands because I find no reason to hold her anymore. 

When I finally let myself to breathe, weariness sets in, invading slowly and surely. 

I'm not going to cry. Not in front of her. 

I open and close my mouth repeatedly, wanting to argue, to fight, but the weariness has touched my mind and is tired to formulate anything. 

Whatever I'm feeling must've been blatantly obvious because Scully starts to look like she's willing to take back what she said. As a doctor, she's a natural healer. She'd do anything in her power to make sure that everything will be alright. Even if it meant lying. 

I can't let her do that. I had asked for honesty, not sympathy. I now have to learn how to live with it. 

I straighten up, not really sure if I can manage to leave without embarrassing myself. I'm not even sure if I can make it outside the infirmary tent. 

"Mulder..." I've barely gotten past my second step when I feel her hand slip in mine. Very unwise. Her very presence is difficult enough. Touching her now and I'm a second away from breaking down. 

I shake it off. 

"Mulder..." she repeats, her voice drowning in gut-wrenching pity. I turn back to face her. 

"What else do you want me to say Scully? I've been completely honest with you but you still won't believe me. If I can make you read my mind and feel what I feel for you just to convince you that I'm sincere, I will. But I can't." I feel like a man running naked with a dozen snipers firing. A man gone alarmingly insane and suicidal. 

"And knowing exactly what I think of you and what I feel for you, since I'm all but spilling my guts here, I don't think you really want to know. Because it will absolutely scare you, Scully. That's how much I want you." 

I don't know how I'm still capable to summon the strength saying what I said. Every word that spilled from my mouth carried rusted needles that scratched their way up my throat. Our tent now seems too far. 

My only response is Scully blinking at me. Expect nothing more from the enigmatic Doctor Scully. I nod and accept what she cannot give. 

"I'll see about setting up another tent for you. We both know you won't be able to get any sleep after this with me just a roll away from you. I know I won't." 

I cannot even shrug to show her that I'm ready to deal with the horrible aftermath and find myself just staring. 

She only stares back in response so I leave. 

* * *

I make it to our tent after all. 

My tent. My tent. 

After a few orders to efficient brawns, Scully's tent is up and ready to be occupied. Right beside mine. She didn't have a say as to where her tent should be placed, but if she wants it moved, she's free to do so. 

I move her things, feeling like every bag is screaming to be left untouched. I retreat back to my tent before I use them to hit the tent's poles and leave her tent scattered flat and useless. 

Now, I'm lying on my sore back, dreading the sunrise because I have yet to find a good reason to join the rest of the swarm-phobic populace. 

There's a tiny tear up my tent, giving me a perfect view of one star. Such a lonely sight. How sad. How appropriate. How pathetic. 

I wonder if I'm truly destined to walk alone. This life or the next. I have failed miserably in every relationship I had and I'm failing this one now. One of life's most trying, deity-cursing times is when you have failed to keep the one person you had sworn and believed that she'd walk with you all the way. In every way. 

It feels like three bullets in the chest, shot at point blank range. I can imagine Death taunting me with his gleaming blade. 

To add salt to my already infected wound, that one person doesn't walk with me because she couldn't quite believe I would want her for the right reasons. 

Death smiles wickedly as he swings the blade for practice. 

My state of morbid depression is interrupted when I find a lone shadow, made prominent by the moonlight, guarding my tent's door. I'm not sure how long it has been there but it's unmistakable who it belongs to. 

The shadow shifts and looks to it's right, appearing to be regarding the tent next to mine. I hold my breath, not daring to make the tiniest sound that might scare it and leave me to Death's poised hands. The shadow's profile disappears and I'm almost sure it's watching me through the closed flap. 

Even by shadow, I can read her hesitancy. Her left hand twitches and mine aches to hold and reassure it. As strange as it may seem, I see this as hope. As another chance. Scully is standing outside my tent, seriously deciding on conceding to my one wish. She's there because a part of her believes me. And a small part of her is a great blessing to a desperate man. 

The shadow suddenly shifts and before it takes a step to go, my hand is out and is grabs anything that it can hold on to. She gasps in surprise when I find her wrist and struggles for a moment. I part the flap with my other hand and peek through. She stops short and we stare at each other, trying to read each other's minds through the semi-darkness. 

If i was looking for a reason, I have found one. The same one. 

She is outside my tent, waiting for me to prove myself. 

I gently pull her inside because an aching man doesn't wait to prove himself. 

Even if he has a lifetime to do it. 

**END**

* * *

Okay, so it's mush once again. I just had to get this out of my system. Talitha, sorry this took so long. Powder, thanks for cheering me on. 

Thank you for taking time to read a bit of my X-Files insanity. :) 

Feedback craved   
  


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